Chapter 2
DAYNA
‘Two minutes to landing.’ The pilot’s voice hits my ears through leather headphones.
I keep my head down and finish the last couple of paragraphs of the research paper I’m reading as the helicopter descends. The conclusion, as with all previous research papers on the topic, is that my father’s cost-cutting was to blame for the Persian Gulf disaster four years ago.
‘Bollocks as ever, Dayna,’ Arthur says from his seat next to me. ‘I don’t know why you persist with reading every report.’
Arthur Worchester was my father’s right-hand man and best friend. Now he’s a chief consultant to Subsea Petroleum and my right-hand man since I became CEO.
The helipad draws closer as the pilot brings us down towards Rising Star, my North Sea rig off the coast of Scotland. Already, the smell of oil permeates the chopper. It’s a familiar smell and, in a warped way, kind of homey.
‘I have this recurring dream,’ I tell Arthur. ‘I receive a paper that delves into the details of the spill. But unlike every other paper, it’s not an attack on my dad, it’s a theory… it’s the truth.’
‘Dayna, that’s exactly what it will always be: a dream. We’ll never be able to prove Kahn had anything to do with the spill.’
I scoff. ‘Spill. Sure.’
It was sabotage.
Caspar Kahn thinks he rules oil in the Middle East. He couldn’t handle the competition from my father’s well, Little Princess.
Caspar opened the valves on the rig’s main pipeline and more than four million barrels of oil spilled into the Persian Gulf.
That’s the truth. Caspar wanted to bring down SP.
He wanted to eliminate his competition. He has blood on his hands.
Folding the paper in half, I stuff it into my handbag as the pilot sets us down on the helipad. When I take off my headphones, the loud whir of the propellers assaults my ears. Once the doors are unlocked, I lower myself to the rig floor.
Ducking slightly, despite the fact I’m feet beneath the propellers, I hold up a hand to help Arthur out of the chopper. He used to do the same for me, when I was a girl and visiting Dad during school holidays, beside myself with excitement. Lately, Arthur’s ageing limbs mean the tables are turned.
‘Dayna, Arthur, good to see you.’ The Head of Health and Safety greets us with handshakes and plants a blue hard hat on top of my long brown hair, which I’ve tied into a low ponytail in readiness.
The North Sea wind forces me to pull my coat tight across my suit.
Once Arthur puts on his hard hat, we head onto the main section of the rig.
I try to listen to the latest H he made sure nobody would ever be able to prove his involvement.
If it hadn’t been for him shooting his mouth off once I became CEO, trying to test my nerves for the industry, I’d probably never have found out the truth.
We sit around a rusty old table in a freezing-cold cabin – me, Arthur, my Head of H you can manage. But the reason I didn’t tell you is, you’ve got to know something first.’
Despite the autumn sun beaming through the car windows, a chill runs the length of my spine.
‘My contact told me the names of the other bidders.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Shale Well. Deep Sea Energy. Layton Oil.’
Clark.
‘And Persian Fuels.’
My vision tunnels. The air is zapped from my lungs. I think my heart stills. ‘Caspar Kahn.’